"Jenny, gal," he began, and from the expression in his eyes she knew just how he would complete the sentence, and so, laughingly, she put her free hand over his mouth.
"Oh, granddad, 'tisn't so, not the least bit, and you mustn't say it again. A stranger might hear you some time, and what if he should think that I really believed it."
But the old man finished his sentence, even though the words were mumbled behind the slim white hand of his girl:
"It's the Gospel truth, Jenny. I'm tellin' ye! Thar ain't a gal over to that hifalutin seminary that's half as purty as yo' be. I reckon I know, 'cause I watch the whole lot of 'em when they go down the road on them parade walks they take, with a teacher ahead and one behind like they was a flock of geese and had to have a gooseherd along, which more'n like they are. A silly parcel, allays gigglin'."
The last half of this speech had been more clearly spoken, for Jenny, having kissed him on the top of the nose from the wagon step, had climbed into the cart.
As she was driving away, she called back to him: "Wrong you are, Granddad, for I am only an egg and honey vender, while they are all aristocrats. Good-bye."
Then, a second later, she turned again to sing out:
"Tell Granny I'd like a chocolate pudding tonight, all hidden in Brindle's yellowest cream."
Long after the girl had driven away, the farmer stood gazing down the lane. An old question had returned to trouble him:
Was it honest not to tell her that she wasn't their own kin?
He couldn't do it. It would break all of their hearts. She was their kin, somehow. No own grandchild could be dearer. Then he thought of the other girl, Jenny's sister. He had heard something that day about her, and he had been mighty sorry to hear it.
When his "gal" disappeared from sight, up one of the tree-shaded lanes leading toward the foothill estates, Farmer Si turned and walked slowly back to the kitchen. He delivered Jenny's message about the chocolate pudding to his wife, who, even then, was preparing the vegetables for supper. Crossing to the sink pump, the old man began working the handle up and down. A rush of crystal clear water rewarded his effort and, after having quaffed a long refreshing draught of it, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.